The sun was high in the sky, and the autumn wind blew gently over the makeshift stage where two warriors, armed to the teeth in an assortment of wooden weapons, were locked in a duel, surrounded by thousands of spectators, cheering either one they favored. One of them was a tall being, an Elf with dark hair and eyes of emerald, green like the leaves of the forests from whence he had hailed, and the other, an Ithildain Princess - by the looks of her amethyst eyes, sporting hair of sparkling gold, bound in a warrior's braid worn only by those who had proven themselves in battle.
"You fight well, Princess," the Elf told the Ithildain woman after parrying a horizontal blow that could have hewed his head from his neck if they were using real weapons. Her cry was fierce and her gaze poison. This woman was one who was not only accustomed to carnage - she was used to it.
"And so do you, my Lord," she replied, raising her wooden shield so as to deflect the Elf's strike from above. She knew that she could not match him in brute force, and from her earlier ideas to trick him with the use of acrobatics, she knew that he could see through mere theatrics. This one was an opponent that could only be conquered by the sheer use of wit and speed, traits that she knew that he lacked not. While waiting for him to recover from such an energy-consuming blow, she raised her shield once more, but at the same time, angled her sword in a manner that its path was concealed by the shield. Once again, he attacked, this time from the side, and was blocked by her shield, only to have his hand struck by the wooden blade that she held.
The Elf only chuckled. "You are clever indeed to use your shield as a deception," he added, taking her by the wrist of her sword-hand and flinging her onto the ground. It was not an elegant move, characteristic of his people, but it was enough to bring her to the floor. "You are fast, but you think lightly of your opponents. You think that your speed is your advantage, but strength, when properly applied, can stop even the fastest of creatures."
"You talk too much," she spat, rolling her eyes as she ran up one of the poles that defined the combat area and launched herself into the air, plunging her sword towards him with a high guard. He, on the other hand, swung his sword from below, thus meeting her attack in mid-air. It was a spectacle that caused the audience to gasp. They had never seen such a thing before, and apparently, so didn't he.
He knew that he had wasted too much time wondering how she could have matched his attack, and jumped backwards to launch another strike, but before he could have done anything, the bell rang. Neither of them had been able to make their opponent submit - the duel had ended with a tie. The spectators cheered and shouted. It was a match that would not be open to their eyes in many generations to come.
"Congratulations, Princess," the Elf said to the Ithildain woman, offering his hand for her to shake, a gesture that she took willingly and without hesitation. "I was speaking the truth when I said that you fought well."
"And to you, my Lord," she answered with a glint in her amethyst eyes. "But it seems that I have broken your winning-streak."
"An incredible feat for a newcomer in this Tournament," the Elf praised. "Your parents and uncle must be very proud of you."
She looked over to the stands where the audience were, and there, right at the front row, occupying the three chairs of the highest honor, the King, the Crown-Princess and Crown-Princess of the High Elves were cheering for a most beloved fighter. Just looking at her father raining down praises upon his daughter and her mother's elegant but proud smile brought much joy to her face, and she bowed to them before waving to them excitedly.
As ceremony dictated, the victors of the Tournament were to present themselves to the front of the dais where they would meet with not only the King of the High Elves, but also the other heads of states, leaders of not only their respective races, but also territories. You see, the sole purpose of the Tournament was to seek out the cream of the crop in those proficient in the martial arts in order to fill the top military positions of their respective lands when they returned. It was also a show of each nation's military prowess at a glance, for the competitors were announced not only by their names, but also by their military rank should they have any.
"Presenting the victors of the Tournament: Princess Melinn-ar Vasa of the Havens and Baran-Mir, and the most gracious Lord Aran-magol Curonion, Prince of the Avari!" shouted the Master of Ceremonies, who presented the Ithildain woman and the Elf to the audience. Children of various races ran up to the stage to give the victors garlands of flowers to be worn around their necks.
"What position awaits you at the Havens?" Aran-Magol, the Elf asked the Ithildain woman, Melinn. It was common knowledge that she was third in line to the throne of the Havens, but there was also rumor that she was pursuing a career in the Ithildain military. Like Melinn, he had been trained to inherit something more than the family profession - they were trained to inherit an entire nation, down to the very last child.
Melinn chuckled and shook her head. "It was implied that I would ascend to the position of Captain of the Sentinels if I obtain certain... desirable results on this venture," she whispered into Aran-magol's ear. "My father has held all the portfolios of importance in the Havens, and I would have nothing left to do to occupy my time."
"It is a great calling, to control half the Ithildain Army," Aran-magol said with a smile on the corner of his eye.
"What is your promised prize, my Lord?" Melinn asked him. "You are already the Prince of the Avari, what more need you achieve?"
"A stint in the Imperial Army as you have been given, fair Lady," Aran-magol answered. "I seek to command the other half."
At that moment of time, Melinn's eyes widened. The post of the Duke of Arms, at that time in the Ithildain Administration was open to all. There had been news that the Empress of the Ithildain had her eye on a foreign candidate, whose name was kept secret to those who were not in the Senate. It was one of the Empress' constitutional rights, to elect two of the four Imperial Offices so long it had been approved by the Senate.
"Imagine, us being colleagues," Aran-magol continued. He was only being humble, whether by design or with sincerity. It was common knowledge that the Captain of the Sentinels was subordinate to the Duke of Arms along with the Captain of the Imperial Army.
"I would not give it up for the world," Melinn replied, wondering whether or not she liked this foreign prince who soon would be her boss. His coming to the Imperial Army was not a precedent case, but somehow, she could not shake away the fact that his appointment served a higher purpose in the course of things. She kept such thoughts to herself, and faced her family who were fast approaching her. She would deal with it in the near future. Not now.
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